


Sleeps with Butterflies

by vega_voices



Series: Sleeps with Butterflies [1]
Category: CSI: Crime Scene Investigation
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-01-09
Updated: 2013-01-10
Packaged: 2017-10-19 18:12:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/203811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vega_voices/pseuds/vega_voices
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>It didn’t matter that he was still in love with her.</p>
          </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

_**Fic: CSI - Sleeps with Butterflies (Prologue)**_  
 **Series** Sleeps with Butterflies  
 **Title:** Prologue: The Next Chapter  
 **Author:** [](http://vegawriters.livejournal.com/profile)[**vegawriters**](http://vegawriters.livejournal.com/)  
 **Disclaimer:** No copyright infringement intended on any characters or storylines that come from CSI:, which is owned, operated, and maintained by CBS and co.  
 **Pairing:** Sara/Grissom  
 **Rating:** Older Teen

**1986  
Modesto, California**

She sobbed, tears of exhaustion, release, and agony. Part of her remembered the child, ripped from her before she could hold her and into the arms of a doctor, now into the arms of strangers, a couple who would care for this baby as if she had been born to them. Her daughter would never know pain, or sorrow, not in their arms. Her daughter would not be given over to child protective services and offered up as sacrifice on an altar to the Gods of Perverted Justice. Her daughter would never feel the sting of her father’s hand against her cheek, hear the silence of murder, or experience the agony of betrayal when those who cared for her chose to turn their backs on her. No, that would never happen. Her daughter would and could have the life that she could never give to her. It was the best choice, but she sobbed. She sobbed because in two days she would be released back into state custody, to a new home, a new “Family” – she wondered if anyone had bothered to find her brother, to tell her where she was. She wanted just once, to hold her daughter.

“Please,” she begged the nurse who had yet to acknowledge her. “Please, let me see her.”

But the nurse ignored her, walking away to another mother – one, the girl knew, was worthy of attention. So she cried, sobs of release and fear. In a tiny, triple stacked hospital room, fifteen-year-old Sara Sidle curled up on her side and sobbed, uncontrollably, into the thin pillow.

**Arlington, VA**

His heart pounded wildly, but he couldn’t hear it above the screaming in his ears. God no, no, no, don’t be taking her, no, please no. God, let me see her, god … Strong arms held him back, the doctors, the officers, everyone. But he had to get to her, he had to …

“Desrea!” He didn’t know if it was his hands or his mouth that called her name. The instinct to scream her name was louder than the training to flash the sign, her sign, his hand over his heart, but he had never once spoken aloud to her. In his panic, he didn’t realize he wasn’t actually speaking her name. “Desrea!”

The doctor emerged, looking grim, shaking his head. There was nothing he could do, Grissom heard him saying. He watched the lips move, and he knew the words had made a connection to his brain, but the process by which it happened made no sense. She was dead upon arrival. They tried to revive her but it was too late. The car accident was too severe. He was sorry.

Sorry. This man was sorry. This doctor who didn’t know his Desi was sorry! Sorry! He was sorry! How could he …

The fight gave out and he sunk to the chair behind him. It wasn’t until he realized that he was signing, “Can I see her” that he knew he had yet to speak. Living in the world of silence, he had almost forgotten how to speak to other people. “Can I see her?” He repeated, slowly, the words sounding rusty to his lips.

“Of course.” The doctor stepped back to allow the man to walk next to him, back through to the trauma room. Soon the coroner would come, soon they would want positive identification and Grissom knew that, as they walked, CSI’s were at the scene of the accident, determining what had happened. They would send Desi’s blood to tox, to determine if she had been drinking. They would learn she was pregnant. His co-workers would look at him with long faces and sad eyes. They wouldn’t know, they couldn’t understand. Soon he would be at a silent funeral. He wondered, just for a moment, if his hands would cry as he signed her eulogy.

**Modesto, California**

It was surprisingly easy to hold her head high behind the whispers. New school, new group of whispers, but nothing had really changed. It was a small world and everyone knew she was the girl whose mother had murdered her father. Her mother was in the crazy-house, her brother was god knows where, and over the summer, while everyone else had been getting laid for the first time, she had given birth. Everyone knew it. Sara took comfort that she didn’t care what they thought.

The cheerleaders milled around on the far side of the grass, some cast glances back at the girl in tattered clothes, most others ignored her (Megan was nice enough, they shared a chemistry class). She actually preferred being ignored; it was easier to just blend into the woodwork inside the science lab. The cheerleaders, those who snickered at her even to her face, were all too happy to come to her and ask her to do their physics homework. While Sara turned them down, they’d slide in an insult about the baby she had given up.

It was easier now. Her breasts had stopped hurting when her body realized there wasn’t a child to care for. Her first period had been agony, but now that Mrs. Baker had put her on the pill, her body was adapting. She knew Mrs. Baker didn’t really care for her much, but this woman was also one of the good ones. All Sara had to do was keep her head up, do her homework, be in by curfew, and not cause a ruckus and in return she had three full meals and no young men in the house to rape her. It was a win-win all around and for the first time in her fifteen years, Sara felt like maybe, just maybe, it all might turn out okay.

Stretching out slowly on the grass, she turned her attention to the dry sandwich and fruit Mrs. Baker had packed. The fruit wasn’t half bad, so she concentrated on that and her fantasy. The package had come in the mail yesterday – her information packet to Harvard. Harvard. Such a dream, but maybe, just maybe she could pull it off. If she kept her grades up and her head high. Maybe she could do it. Harvard. From murder central to Ivy League, she could do it. She could do it. Her counselor had even told her that if she kept her grades up (the man was very impressed that she’d managed straight A’s even while pregnant) and was willing to take a couple classes before or after school hours, she could graduate early. Early. She could graduate high school and be released from state custody early. She could go to Harvard and study science.

She could find out the answers to her questions. Maybe there. At Harvard.

**Arlington, VA**

It never felt strange to him, that when kneeling at her grave, he signed. She hadn’t been able to hear him in life, how on Earth could she hear him in death? As it was, the scientist in him felt silly, kneeling on the grass by the freshly placed white roses, signing to her about how life was going down here on Earth. Gil was a scientist, he knew that six feet beneath him, his fiancé’s body was slowly decomposing. The science would take care of what faith could not, but still, he did believe in the soul (so many years of studying Eastern Philosophy had taught him something about spirituality) and he felt her nearby whenever he knelt here, signing to her that he missed her and he loved her and he wanted her to come home.

He told her about the job opportunity in Vegas, the hiring of a level three CSI manager for the graveyard shift at LVPD, to work hand in hand with the night shift supervisor and take over training of all new hires. They wanted his skills in entomology, and no one they currently had in the supervisory structure was ready to handle the double stress of the graveyard shift. He wanted to say that he could see her there, talking to him, telling him to take the job. His rational mind knew it was just his desperate need to move away from her and the memories and start his life up again. Psychologists said it was best to wait a year after a tragedy, to let the mind heal from the trauma, but Gil knew his own mind and heart and he knew he’d never be healed out here, where her memory was in everything he touched. Tears fell from his eyes as he leaned over to kiss her headstone and for the first time since they met, he whispered aloud to her. “Good bye, Des. I love you.”

Las Vegas. He turned and walked away. Yes, the next chapter waited in Vegas.

_TBC ..._


	2. An Introduction, Of Sorts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It didn’t matter that he was still in love with her.

**Series:** Sleeps with Butterflies  
 **Title:** An Introduction, Of Sorts  
 **Author:** **Pairing:** Sara/Grissom  
 **Timeframe/Spoilers:** Over the course of time, will cover the entire series. This chapter: the Pilot and Cool Change.  
 **Rating:** The entire series is being posted under Adult.  
 **Disclaimer:** The characters in this story, save for one, all belong to CBS, et al. I make no money, no claims. But if they want to hire me for the writing staff, I'm all ears.

 **Summary:** It didn’t matter that he was still in love with her. 

****_There are certain people you just keep coming back to_  
She is right in front of you  
~The Fray, All At Once 

_Las Vegas, Nevada  
September 2000_

It didn’t matter that he hadn’t touched her – at least not the way he wanted to – for almost four years, three weeks, and five days.

It didn’t matter that despite how she really felt about him, she put their friendship first.

It didn’t matter that he was still, and always would be, fifteen years older than she was. 

It didn’t matter that her feelings for him were a mess of confusion. 

It didn’t matter that he still blamed himself for the broken arm Dan had given her.

It didn’t matter that her smile could be a perfect mask of professionalism. 

It didn’t matter that he could see right behind the smile and know that something was hurting her.

It didn’t matter that she was now single.

It didn’t matter that his date the other night had gone badly.

It didn’t matter that Holly Gribbs was most likely not going to make it.

It didn’t matter that she was heading back to San Francisco after this was all said and done.

It didn’t matter that she was still in love with him.

It didn’t matter that he was still in love with her. 

None of the baggage mattered. 

Standing there under the mid-day Las Vegas heat, they were able to raise the temperature at least ten degrees just by looking at each other, and he was sure that even up on the roof, Nick would be able to tell how he felt about Sara.

“The only why that matters,” Sara searched his eyes, understanding how much this was hurting him, “is why did Warrick Brown leave that crime scene?” She had to admit that she didn’t give a damn about any of this. They’d all been left alone at crime scenes on their first night; Grissom had left Holly alone at a liquor store on her very first case. Warrick Brown’s guilt should be punishment enough for this infraction, but the rulebooks didn’t care about guilt. So now, she stood here, an inadvertent IA investigator, wanting to be mad at Warrick Brown but feeling a strange sympathy, wondering what practices were actually followed in the Las Vegas lab, and just a little angry that she was being placed in this situation by the man she refused to admit that she was still in love with. 

Grissom sighed softly at her comment, reading between the lines and seeing the flicker in her eyes. “That’s why I brought you down here.” He glanced skyward, beckoning Nick down off the roof. “Sara …” Grissom looked back at her, not bothering to avoid the dark gaze that always, always, reduced him to a gibbering idiot. “He’s a good man. Warrick.”

“Good men make mistakes too,” Sara cocked a sad smile at him. “You told me that.” 

Wanting to smile back, but suddenly caught up in the memory of his own words from four years ago as he sat in that emergency room with her, blaming himself for her freshly broken arm, Grissom turned, glad for the sudden interruption by the low whistle that came from Nick Stokes. Barely uttering the other CSI’s name, Grissom quietly presented Sara. He brought her forward with one hand hovering just away from the small of her back, letting Nick know in no uncertain terms, that Sara belonged to him. Suddenly feeling like a caveman, he dropped his hand and let Sara make her own introduction. But her professionalism toward Nick did little to curb the primal urges coursing through his body. Nick was young and clearly, already, attracted to Sara. Maybe this hadn’t been such a good idea. 

Sara smirked and stepped away, a new square to her shoulders at Grissom’s sudden dominance. The CSI with the Texas accent was doing his best to woo her with his smile and his drawl, and it would work if she felt like being charmed. But right now, work had to come before play, and it was Grissom that she wanted to play with. “Sara Sidle from San Francisco PD Criminalistics. Got a few minutes to talk to me?” Nick, ever the good kid, looked to the father in the moment. Grissom nodded before turning back to his dummies.

***

_San Francisco, California_  
June 1996

If he had to be honest, and Gil Grissom was nothing but honest, he preferred maggots and beetles to people. They were quiet, they demanded none of his time but what he was willing to give, and they were always, always completely perfect. He could be wrong about them, but _they_ were never wrong. 

The stream of students barely caught his attention as the makeshift classroom filled up from the back forward. He didn’t understand how a room full of people who all studied dead things for a living could be squeamish about bugs. Only a few brave souls dared even the edges of the front row. _Wimps._

But as he scanned the crowd, looking past the lurkers, his eyes fell on a ponytail of curly brown hair, thin, elegant arms encased in a blue, hooded sweater, and a shoulder that balanced a bag outlined in what he instantly assumed were the Harvard colors (the patch touting the Harvard Physics department was the most glaring evidence). He watched the woman’s long fingers raise a cup of coffee to her lips and noticed there was something stiff about the way she moved. Possibly a result of a pull in her lower back. Someone, a friend he assumed, came up and put a hand on her arm and she jumped (from true surprise or nerves, he wasn’t sure), but quickly recovered and turned, giving Grissom the full profile of her face. 

She was pale, and the dark of her hair made the white of her skin stand out against the dark blue sweater. Peering at her carefully, he took in the slight redness under her makeup – she had a mild skin condition of some kind, most likely rosacea. Even from a distance, he could tell her makeup was minimal – base, lip gloss, and a small dash of eye shadow. Forgetting about the maggots for a moment, he stared blatantly, moving to the edge of the dais, pretending to shuffle papers. 

She turned, walking now with the man who had touched her earlier. Her badge, dark blue lettering against the white background, revealed her identity: Sidle, Sara A. CSI 2. San Francisco Police Department: Criminalistics. 

Sidle, Sara A.’s walking confirmed the presence of a lower pack strain. Her legs, the longest he’d ever seen, were encased in a pair of black linen pants and he could see her shirt now – a plain, blue, knit t-shirt that stretched comfortably over what had to be a 34 C cup, and rested against her flat stomach. A small bulge at her naval hinted at a possible belly button piercing. Most of the women in the room chose to wear flimsy flats or heels of some kind but on her feet were black boots. And, also unlike the other women in the room, she sat right in the center of the front row – even leaving her friend a few rows back – and after she’d settled, she looked up, surveying the scene, and her gaze met his. For the first time in his forty years he finally understood what it meant to fall into someone’s eyes. 

Never, not even on that day, fifteen years ago, when he’d first looked into Desrea’s eyes, had Gil Grissom’s heart actually skipped a beat. He swallowed, hard, felt the blush of surprise and even the embarrassment of arousal – he could tell that she now knew he’d been watching her – and looked down, suddenly focused on the handouts of maggot infestation in urban areas. Without looking up, he could tell that Sidle, Sara A. was also blushing.

***

_Las Vegas, Nevada_  
September 2000

The ticking of his clock against the wall of his office reverberated through the room, each second reminding him of Holly’s death, Warrick’s impending dismissal, graveyard’s open cases, the paperwork that was now his to deal with now that the Sherriff had so graciously given him the whole graveyard unit to run, not just the CSI’s. A team of CSI’s who, collectively, pulled more double and triple shifts than any other peace officer department in Clark County, and therefore required double the amount of paperwork. The team that had the best solve rate in the country, which meant twice as much court time, which also meant more paperwork. But despite the ticking of the clock and the paperwork and the team to manage, it was her latest e-mail, the one she’d sent right before he called her and begged her to come down, that had his attention. He’d read it a million times, and he’d read it again and again, just like with every other e-mail she’d sent over the past four years. 

_Hey Babe,_

_Check out the attachment but when you’re away from the office. I got the other one pierced and you said you wanted to see it. Hurt worse than the first time, actually, but I’m thinking the pain as it heals will help me stay away from the smokes. Yes, I’m trying to quit (again) – but I’ve already experienced the rush of half a pack of cigarettes while chomping down on nicotine gum. It wasn’t my fault! It was the triple homicide that I was graciously given to work by my fucking self. I’m all for overtime, but even triple shifts are hard on the body and soul. Hey, what can you tell me about maggot infestations in carpet fibers? Is it only blood that brings them in? The place was trashed – I was actually tempted to call you up here for your expertise._

_I threw Dan out. Yeah, I know you’ll be happy to hear that. I threw the asshole out on his ass. Forgive the sentence structure, I wasn’t an English major and I’m a bit drunk and loopy on painkillers. Don’t ask what they’re for, no they aren’t for the piercing. Yes, I’m drinking while on painkillers. Not a smart idea but it hurts right now. No new tattoos, I think I’m going to stop at two. The phoenix symbolizes enough I think. Especially now._

_Anyway, I think I’m gonna go pass out – I have to be back at work in just a few hours and that means sleeping off the stuff in my system. Of course, I can’t sleep, so that’s why I’m drinking and shooting off inane e-mails to you that I’m sure I’ll find a way to regret when I’m sober. I’ll go crack one of the textbooks you sent me for my birthday. No offense, but tonight it just might do the trick._

_Hey, do you believe in extra-terrestrial life?_

_I love you, you know._

_~Sara~_

Normally, the final question would have made him laugh. It was a tradition with them – a final question, sometimes random, sometimes not, designed to spur some kind of response in the next e-mail. His last one had been asked simply out of morbid curiosity. _Did you actually go through with it?_ And she had. He wondered if it was before or after she’d thrown Dan out. He’d spent many hours looking at the attachment, fascinated with the silver butterfly ring slipped through her raspberry nipple. It fit her and the butterfly tattoo on the underside of her other breast perfectly, and turned him on completely. He wanted to tell her that he’d gone through an entire bottle of lube while staring at the printout of the picture he now kept in his nightstand. He wanted to tell her that he still loved her, that he wanted her to come down to Vegas to be with him, not just work with him. He wanted her away from Dan. But all of what he actually wanted didn’t matter, not if she took the job he was going to offer her. It just wouldn’t be right to cross the physical line again. No matter how much he wanted to. 

It didn’t matter. It was over. It had to be. He was going to offer her a job.

But she still loved him too. He knew that much.

Her signature had never changed in the past four years no matter how often she fought with Dan about it. He signed his e-mails to her the same way – despite his knowledge that Dan was checking her account. He worried over and over as to why she’d finally worked up the courage to end it with him, and if she’d actually keep it ended. She’d broken up with Dan more times than he could count in the past four years. And if he decided to not care about boundaries and ethics, he knew exactly what he would find under that light tank top she was wearing. He’d seen it all before. Dan was very, very smart and knew exactly how to hit her so that no one else would ever know. He really hoped this was it. He knew better than to expect for it to be. 

Sighing, he ran a hand over his graying hair and leaned back, wondering what had happened. Sara was holding herself carefully, just like she had the day they’d met. She moved with her usual purposeful stride but it seemed all her energy came in keeping up appearances. What had happened? Or was she still feeling the effects of the triple shift? 

God.

He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t stay away from her. He couldn’t want to love her but offer her a job – a job he knew that she’d accept. It wasn’t fair to create that power structure for either of them. Was it right to ask her to stay tonight and then offer her the job in the morning? Was it right to make love to her just so he could push the images of her ex from his mind? Was it right for him to still love her like he did? 

But he did love her and he wanted her here, with him. For personal and professional reasons. 

God. He couldn’t stay away from her. He knew himself that well at least. 

He’d never had the chance to answer the maggot question. Maybe, over dinner he could tell her exactly what she would need to know about infestations. 

If she let him, he would take her to his bed and he would satisfy his own selfish needs and claim her again as his own and then he’d ask her to move out here, to take Holly’s place in the crew. She would say yes, he knew. And they would just have to get used to working as professionals. At least they could be near each other, right? 

The door opened and she stood there, her sweater still over her shoulders, her khakis slightly wrinkled from wearing them for two straight days, her eyes tired and sad. “Do what you need to do, Griss,” she leaned in his doorway, “but those are the facts.” It was clear her sympathy for Warrick was long gone. “And I’d do it before IA starts sniffing around on _you_.”

“Thanks.” He waved her to one of the seats, watching as she sat very carefully. “The painkillers wearing off?”

“Yeah.” With effort, she put her feet up on his desk, knowing he hated it and knowing she could get away with it.

***

_San Francisco, California_  
June 1996

Without even having to turn around, he knew it was her. Boots made a different sound than heels on a floor, and the tread was lighter than a man’s would be. A slight whiff of perfume tickled his nose – Chanel No. 5, a typical perfume for a woman and it was interesting to him because she came across as anything but typical. It even smelled wrong on her – she wore it for someone else. It also raised questions in his mind about why she was carrying herself the way she did. She was impatient, he heard her bag shift against her sweater and could tell she had crossed her arms over her chest. Only when he could no longer pretend to put papers into his briefcase did he turn and he wondered if the look on his face at all matched the sudden passion that surged through his body as he finally had the chance to look at her up close. 

Sweet God, she was beautiful. DaVinci would have wanted to paint her, Michelangelo to sculpt her. He’d come across many stunning women in his day – had even married one – but he had never in his life been this close to someone so truly beautiful. The blonde bombshells in the room, the curvy dancers in Vegas, Catherine, none of them could compete with Sara’s simple, unassuming beauty. Then, she smiled and he was able to get a glimpse of the whole package, including the gap in her teeth, he knew he was completely gone. “You raised some interesting questions today, Ms. Sidle.” Professional. He would force himself to be professional. 

“Please, it’s Sara.” She held out a hand.

He swallowed the lump in his throat as they touched for the first time; just a handshake. He’d had less intense orgasms. Unwilling to let go of her hand just yet, he glimpsed down, seeing two silver rings on her delicate fingers. One was carved in intricate Celtic designs. The other was set with an amber stone. Carefully, he turned her hand upward, looking into the petrified sap. “You have a spider on your hand.” 

“I couldn’t resist – it is an entomology seminar after all.” 

“Today was just entomology. Tomorrow we get into the tough stuff.” This was bad. This was very bad. His knees were weak. He was actually grateful when, artfully, she extracted her hand. 

“You’re here for the whole semester, right?” When he nodded, she looked back at the room. “Lecturing kids for the most part, right? Us CSI's only get to take advantage of you for the first couple of days.”

She’d done her homework on him. It was impressive. “Well, while I’m here I’m also working with San Francisco PD. Maybe we’ll work together.” He nodded to her badge. “You’re a level two?”

“The ink is still fresh on the badge, actually. Technically, I’m a lab rat. I spend most of my time in the lab, running the trace tests. Took me a long time to get to this point. Hopefully I’ll get to spend actual time in the field now, though.”

He could tell she’d never revealed this much about herself to anyone in this casual a conversation. “You’re lab rat who has also managed to work her way into a level two position. That’s impressive.”

She snorted and adjusted the bag on her shoulder. “I did my masters thesis in physical design of lab equipment for crime scenes focusing on electromagnetic signatures and how they can be used to better read prints on hard surfaces. That’s really what granted me the status.”

Suddenly, he remembered her name. “Sara Sidle. You were all over the Journal of Forensic Science a few months ago. You adjusted the equations in the mechanics of the equipment to make the signature even stronger. You’ve changed the face of forensics!” His heart skipped another beat. “I have been meaning to contact you!”

Again, she chuckled, but hearing the pride and amazement in his voice made her stand a bit straighter. “Thank you.”

Sara just smiled and allowed herself to be led as he left the dais and made his way to the entrance of the auditorium. Each step brought them closer to the end of their conversation, something neither of them wanted to happen. At the door, Gil paused and made the first impulse decision he’d made since asking Desrae out for the first time. “Do you want to have dinner with me?”

***

_Las Vegas, Nevada_  
September, 2000

“Of course I do,” Sara smiled and pushed herself to her feet. “And I know that you’re itching to see this ring in person.”

_I’m itching to taste it. God, I don’t think I’ll be able to control myself._

“Want to tell me what happened?” He changed the subject, hoping to trip her up. He should have known better.

“Not really?”

He also caught the question in her tone. “You’ll send me pictures of your nipple ring but you won’t tell me what Dan did to make you break it off once and for all?”

“I’ll e-mail it to you.”

“Why not here?”

“Because here I won’t be looking into your eyes and seeing your disappointment and anger. I threw him out. Half the PD hates me, the other half is cheering.”

As usual, he was taken by surprise at her candor. “I’m just glad you did it.” He sighed softly and tried again, “What did he do and are you pressing charges?”

“Can we not talk about this?”

He relented at the pleading tone in her voice. “When do you need to go back to San Francisco?”

“Paperwork is filed so really, now. But I need some sleep first. It’s a long drive.”

Grissom nodded and stood up. The paperwork could wait. He moved over to her and put a hand on her hip. When she flinched, he started to panic and looked down into her eyes. “What did he do to you, Sara?”

“Do you want to see that nipple ring or not?” She moved to the door, shouldering her purse again. “And you’ve got something else to ask me, I can tell. So come on, take me out to dinner and we’ll talk and, if you’re lucky, I’ll show you the butterfly.”

“And the phoenix?”

She looked into his blue eyes and smiled. “Yeah. And the phoenix.”

With a sigh, he turned out the light and followed her out of the office. His answers would come. Eventually.


	3. What the Butterfly Saw

_**Fanfic: Sleeps with Butterflies (ch 2)**_  
 **Series:** Sleeps with Butterflies  
 **Chapter 2:** Chapter Two: What the Butterfly Saw  
 **Author:** [](http://vegawriters.livejournal.com/profile)[**vegawriters**](http://vegawriters.livejournal.com/)  
 **Pairing:** Sara/Grissom  
 **Timeframe/Spoilers:** This chapter: Pre-Series up to _Crate 'n Burial_ Over the course of time, will cover the entire series.  
 **Rating:** Adult. Note to sensitive readers: this chapter, like many in the future, deals with abuse.  
 **Disclaimer:** The characters in this story, save for one, all belong to CBS, et al. I make no money, no claims. But if they want to hire me for the writing staff, I'm all ears.

**Summary:**   
_With you I quote Shakespeare and dream in Neruda. I see the beauty of a sunset and the sensuality of a rainstorm. You taught me bravery and compassion – and even stupidity. There are days when I look at you and I wonder why you stayed for so long in that place and that situation, but I also understand, somehow, why you couldn’t go. We understand each other, we are good together, and that frightens me._

**_Black eyes are apart of one’s life_  
** So you don’t always see straight  
Covering up the different colors of your skin  
Just to let him get away  
Yea, I’ve been trying to leave this life  
I’m nearly half way home  
Till I realize there’s nothing left  
Worth fighting for  
~Lennon Murphy (“Main Gravel Road” on  Career Suicide)

_October 15, 2000_

_I never thought I would miss conversation. I live alone, I exist in a place where I see people but few see me. I prefer being a ghost. But, you are not a ghost. You touch everyone, everything. You do not know it, but everything you work with blossoms._

_You lived here only a couple of weeks, just long enough to sign the papers on your new apartment, but I already miss your presence. It seems silly to miss you, I will see you tonight at work, but I’ve existed without you for so long, and when you are with me, I realize what I’ve been missing without you. Suddenly our lives can be more than e-mails and hurried late night phone calls. You are tangible again._

_With you I quote Shakespeare and dream in Neruda. I see the beauty of a sunset and the sensuality of a rainstorm. You taught me bravery and compassion – and even stupidity. There are days when I look at you and I wonder why you stayed for so long in that place and that situation, but I also understand, somehow, why you couldn’t go. We understand each other, we are good together, and that frightens me._

_It frightens me because you exist in a world that I cannot comprehend. You are young and beautiful – and four years ago the difference did not matter as much as it does now._

_I love you, deeply. I love you but I do not know you. I know of your education and I know of your career choices, but I do not know you any more than you know me. Our lives together began when I first noticed you in that seminar, and there are days when that is good enough for me. After all, do you truly need to know about Desrea? Do I need to know about your life before?_

_I wish we could find a good way to explore the past, but the world is a different place now. I do not know if I can love you as I wish and also keep you here, on my team. I cannot live without seeing you every night, but this choice must be made – and it was a conversation that I avoided the other day. I shouldn’t have, but I couldn’t look into your eyes and tell you that it couldn’t happen again. It is unethical to take you to my bed, as much as I want to. So we must exist as we are – and we cannot cross the line again. If I do, I do not know if I can step back. For now, this must be what we have.  
~From the journal of Gil Grissom_

  
**San Francisco, CA  
June 1996**

The logical, tenured, methodical investigator in the back of Gil Grissom’s brain knew full well that kissing her this way was completely unethical. After all, he was her instructor over the course of the next few days and then would be her superior at the San Francisco Lab while he filled in for one of the supervisors who had found the need for a well-deserved sabbatical.

Right now though, that logical voice was pushed back against the wall right next to the same voices who had often told him to blow off chemistry in college or who suggested as of late that he take the butt of his gun to Conrad Ecklie’s head.

The man that Gil Grissom was: dominant, controlling, passionate was speaking now, loud and clear and he wanted to do nothing more than to take Sara Anne Sidle to bed.

Sara Anne. It was such a simple name for such a complex woman.

She moaned against him and every voice in his head suddenly jumped onto the team with the passionate man. Every romantic cliché he’d ever heard raced through his mind. This was right. They’d been meant to come together like this, even if it made things strange and uncomfortable in the morning or at the seminar or at the lab.

“Can I pretend to invite you in for coffee?” Sara broke for air and leaned against the door of her condo with a nervously seductive smile.

“Please.” Grissom caught her lips in a softer kiss before allowing her to lead them both inside.

**Las Vegas, NV  
September 2000**

“I like what you’ve done with the place,” Sara teased softly while he put the takeout bags on the counter. She wandered around the room, as familiar with it as if she came home to it every night and not as if it was the first time inside the austere home. It was perfectly Gil, and yet, she could tell that even here, he held some part of himself back. Even here, in his sanctuary, his ghosts followed him. It was something she could identify with.

But his silence informed her that he was ignoring her comments, and when he came up behind her, carefully– she knew she’d scared him when she’d flinched in his office- she just smiled softly. It was clear he wanted to know exactly what had happened with Dan, and she knew that when they made it to his bedroom (as she fully intended to), he’d see the bruises and the bite marks and she’d have to tell him to be gentle with her because her cracked rib was still healing. But, as they stood there, her leaning against him, his arms lovingly around her waist, she knew they were both finally relaxing.

“I’ve missed you, Sar …”

Sara bit her lip at his words. His soft murmur rasped against her skin and she shivered, leaning more into his arms. The solid strength of his body gave her the first real comfort she’d felt in four years. “I’ve missed you too, Gil …”

“We need to talk …” he bent to kiss her shoulder.

“Can it wait?” She needed him.

“Please …” he whimpered before spinning her in his arms and capturing her entire body against his. Lips clashed, hands moved inside of clothing – somehow he lifted her legs up around his waist, and when he reached for the light in the bedroom, she stopped him from turning it on. The shadows would be a friend right now, and she wanted to delay the inevitable self-blame he’d heap on himself when he saw the remnants of the day she’d finally thrown Dan out of her life. Right now, she just wanted this.

**San Francisco, CA  
June 1996**

Grissom woke. Despite spending so much of his time in hotel rooms, he didn’t sleep well in unfamiliar beds, and right now, he was much more interested in the body next to him than sleep. Slowly, carefully, he rolled over, taking advantage of Sara’s state of sleep and the covers being pulled out of the way to take a good look at her for the first time. Pre-dawn light filtered in through the windows, casting shadows around the room and across her toned and pierced body.

Yes, pierced.

Two belly button piercings and a nipple ring. She hadn’t even been wearing earrings, but here, hidden from the world, were painful body modifications. Unlike those who did it for some kind of attention, something drove her to do this for herself. Slowly, he traced the small breast, realizing that the piercing was a silver butterfly.

Gently he cupped the pierced breast in his hand. She shifted, slightly, at the touch, her body reacting, but he continued on, looking, daring to explore. Just below the areola, shadows of butterfly wings floated up from the underside of her breast, fading out around the darker skin. All of the wings were torn, ragged at the edges. Instantly he understood the symbolism – the death of innocence.

He wondered what had happened to her. Something told him that his imagination could never accurately create the horrors she’d actually experienced.

“Hey …”

Grissom cast his gaze to her face, leaving his hand on her breast but feeling slightly guilty for being caught in his exploration.

“I have a confession …” she whispered, looking away from him.

“Yes?” At this point, she could confess that she was a serial killer and he wouldn’t mind.

“I just broke up with my boyfriend. You aren’t a rebound thing or anything, but … I felt like you should know.”

Grissom just nodded, slowly. “Something told me there was a recent someone else.”

“You …” she sat up just a bit and his heart sank as the words continued to fall from her lips, “You know … if you want to leave … it’s okay. I won’t hold it against you or anything. I know things like this happen with seminars …”

“If I don’t want to go?” He stroked her cheek, feeling more at home than he had since the night he’d carried Desrea over the threshold.

She heaved a sigh of relief that had him chuckling. She joined him, but there were tears in the laughter – she was so confident in front of others but alone, in the most vulnerable of places, she was a broken woman – a butterfly with torn wings. He stroked her cheek and smiled when she snuggled down against him. “Good,” she whispered. “Because I already like having you here.”

**Las Vegas, NV  
September 2000**

She’d already come once and her body was still trembling; he knew just what to do to keep her going. He’d pull back, let her body cool off, and then bring her back to the edge all over again. His tongue was diving deeper and his fingers were up at her breast, tugging on her healed nipple ring. She was helpless to do anything but reach behind her and grip the slight gap in the headboard. He loved being in control and she loved giving it over to him.

His lips were now at her breast, kissing around the still healing nipple while his experienced fingers worked the other. “I love this …” he murmured. “You, Sara Sidle, are a naughty, naughty woman.”

She giggled and somehow managed to wrap a shaking leg around his hip. “A fact known only to a few select people.”

“Let’s keep it that way, hmm?” He kissed her softly before pulling back just enough to work her legs completely apart. As always, he looked into her eyes before sliding into her body and she gasped, her arms tightening around him as her body adjusted to his size. He was almost too big for her, but the pain was a perfect stimulant. Let the naysayers out there talk about how it wasn’t possible for a woman to have a vaginal orgasm. She hadn’t believed it either until Gil Grissom had entered her body.

They had so much to talk about, but it could all wait. All of it.

**San Francisco, CA  
June 1996**

The taste of syrup lingered on her lips and he found himself playfully trying to kiss the sugar away. She laughed, mirroring his antics, but there was a cautious lightness in her response, as if she expected everything to change in an instant.

The back of his knees came into contact with the edge of her bed and they sank together, her on his lap, but he wanted to actually see her, see all of her, so he tugged and she rolled, coming to rest where his own head had been the night before.

Grissom looked at Sara gently, curious as to how last night had left her feeling. Despite his own rush of feelings, he wasn’t quite sure where to go from here, even though they’d both enjoyed themselves, and had just spent breakfast feeding each other waffles. Beyond the fact that she was beautiful, there was something else; she reacted to him like almost no other women had, she understood his primal self. Already, he had fantasies of watching her succumb to his dominance; of switching and letting her take the lead.

But right now, he had to think about heading back to the hotel and change before the seminar. They still had to be professional towards each other in a few hours. “Um …”

“It’s okay …” Sara’s smile faded slightly. “What I said last night still holds …”

She’d still respect him, but he didn’t know if he’d respect himself for walking away. It wasn’t even because of the need he already had to protect her. “What if I don’t want to walk away?” He repeated his question from the night before, whispering as he took her slender hand in his. “It won’t be easy, but … I want something with you, Sara.”

Her smile eased his fears and he leaned in to kiss her, gently undoing the belt on her robe as he did so. They had a couple of hours, and he wanted to touch her again.

But when he looked back down at her bared breasts, it was the dark spreading at her ribcage that made him catch his breath. He’d missed it in the shadows in the bedroom – but the bruise definitely formed a hand larger even than his own. He looked closer and found a matching one on the other side.

He gulped.

The ex-boyfriend. The abusive ex-boyfriend.

“He’s gone …” she whispered.

“Sara …” he gulped, wondering just how rough he’d been with her last night, worried that he’d hurt her. “Really. Are you okay?”

“Really.” She repeated the word to reassure him, “I’m fine.”

“I didn’t hurt you?”

“No …” she shook her head. “No. Actually, you made me forget for a little while.”

“Want to talk about it?”

“Not really, if you don’t mind …”

He kissed her shoulder gently, all thoughts of repeating their activities from the night before vanishing. “Can I just hold you?”

She smiled and they both relaxed. “Please.”

**Las Vegas, NV  
September 2000**

There was something inherently calming about his townhouse. It wasn’t something she’d expect of the slate floors and the coarsely decorated rooms, but Sara found herself almost at peace as she leaned against one of the living room windows, peeking out into the bright Las Vegas mid-afternoon.

Something wouldn’t let her rest, though. With a sigh, she pressed the cell phone to her ear, listening for what had to be the millionth time to the last of the six new voicemails she’d had in the past twelve hours. The other five had been deleted, but for some reason, she couldn’t do it to this last one. Just the sound of Dan’s pleading voice made her queasy but she couldn’t bring herself to hit the button on her phone that would erase his voice permanently.

But that was the lie. It wasn’t permanent and she knew the cycle all too well. He’d call back again and again until she answered and he’d sweet talk his way to keep her from hanging up and he’d show up at the apartment with flowers and a book she’d been wanting to read and he’d kiss her so gently and apologize and promise he’d get help for his drinking. He’d tell her he was so sorry, but sometimes she just made him so mad and he didn’t know why; it was probably not really her, of course, but the pressures of the job. She knew how it was. Anyway, he’d tell her, she had a temper too. Maybe she could work on that temper and maybe he wouldn’t fly off the handle again. And while he was saying it, he’d grip her face just a bit hard and he’d kiss her and she’d give in, out of fear and out of love for him.

He was right. She did have a temper. And that would stay on her mind while she let him be rough with her and the flowers would never make it into a vase and the book would never get around to being read and in a few weeks he’d come over, again smelling of another woman and too much alcohol and when she denied him he’d force her up against the wall and pin her arms behind her back and there would be nothing sensual about the domination of the encounter. The blows would be so carefully placed that no one would even suspect when she wore a tank top the next day that anything was wrong. He’d yank her hair back and force her to her knees and she’d give in because she didn’t want to think that a man she loved could rape her.

He’d unpack the things she’d packed up for him and then, in a few months, she’d come home late and he’d be logged into her computer, reading the latest e-mail from Grissom. He’d demand to know why she was still in touch with him and she’d fight back and tell him that he had no right to hack into her personal accounts. He’d slap her, hard, and order her to stop e-mailing him while she was holding her fist to her face in a desperate attempt to stop the swelling. He’d yank at her new, still unhealed nipple ring until she bled. He’d go out and find his “comfort” in one of the girls from the day shift and then go into the department the next day and tell all his fellow cop buddies that she was still cheating on him. The girl from the day shift would spread rumors and talk about how Dan was so upset because he loved Sara so much, all the while she’d be checking her compact every ten minutes to make sure the makeup covering the bruise hadn’t rubbed off. Later, when she was assigned to a case and one of his buddies was there, they’d contaminate the scene or leave her alone before clearing the premises.

She wanted to hate the girl from the day shift, but, honestly, she didn’t know if the girl knew any better. Dan could be sweet. Too sweet. And who knew – maybe he really did just go over to her place and cry into his beer about how Sara was in love with another man.

After all, was she really being fair to him? Her feelings for Grissom had never gone away, and that was a terrible thing for any lover to have to contend with.

Her breath caught and the pull of her ribs reminded her of why she’d finally managed to work up the courage to actually throw Dan out of her life. Of all the beatings, all the times she’d ended up in various stages of purple and yellow, he’d crossed a line right as something snapped inside of her. For the first time in her life, she truly understood her mother’s choices. Even as Dan had held her back against the wall, it was the image of her mother floating behind her eyes that kept her from completely giving in. But still, here she was, listening to his voice mail, amazed her that for all her strength, for all the promises she’d made to herself when she’d finally come to terms with her father’s death, she couldn’t get away from someone who used her for a punching bag. She could still find ways to make the cheating, the bruises, the broken bones, and the threats acceptable.

For a long moment, she allowed her thoughts to linger on the memory of her mother’s face, cut and bloody, begging the nurse to not call the police; she couldn’t leave her husband. She shivered, feeling her father’s fist across her own face.

_Sara, baby, I’m so sorry, honey. Come home. I know you’re on a case right now, but when you get back, let me come home. I’m sorry for what I said to you the other night. You know I love you. You know it. Honey, please. I didn’t mean it. You know how I get when I’m drinking. I’ll get help. You can help me get help. Honey, let me come home._

She didn’t know how long she stared at the number seven on the keypad before she finally pushed it. The mechanical voice told her the message had been deleted. She felt strangely lighter.

Strong arms slipping around her waist scared her momentarily, but she leaned back against the firm body behind her, breathing in the mix of Old Spice and Listerine that combined sensuously with the musk that he exuded. “You should be in bed,” she whispered, not wanting him to ever let go.

Grissom freed one arm long enough to take the cell phone from her hand and toss it over onto the couch. The arm then moved back, strongly, around her waist and held her against his naked body. “So should you, Honey.” He murmured into her ear, nipping at her earlobe.

“I didn’t want to wake you.”

“I’m awake now.” He tugged on her, gently. Everything was gentle right now – he’d seen the bruises on her back and stomach and since his initial horror, she’d felt him channel his pent up passion into making sure she felt safe and protected. It killed her that she’d given up so much. All she’d had to do was say yes four years ago when he asked her to come with him. She knew the question was still there, and he was just waiting to ask it. This time, she wouldn’t turn him down. “Sara …”

  
**San Francisco, CA  
July 1996**

“Are you always this tireless?” Gil chuckled as he watched Sara unload the evidence from the latest case.

“The answer is usually in the question,” she tossed back at him. “Anyway, you weren’t complaining last night,” she murmured as she walked past.

“Last night, you were doing things to me that I didn’t know were possible.” Laughing, Gil helped her with one of the larger boxes, while forcing his face into some level of decorum for the benefit of the rest of the San Francisco lab. Gil had to admit that he was impressed with Sara’s ability to separate work and personal. Despite his absolute certainty that they were the rumor of the lab, it wasn’t because of anything Sara had done. To him, there was no mistaking the eyes she cast at him, and the flirting was fun, but she never crossed the line in front of other people. Even still, more than a few cops glanced Sara’s way as they walked inside. He knew, by now, that these were friends of her ex-boyfriend’s; these men were a good part of the reason, he assumed, that she had kept going back to Dan.

In silence, he helped her to log the evidence and then, after confirming that there was nothing more they could do until the next shift, she followed him out to his rental car. Only when she was curled up against him, her head against his shoulder, his hand on her leg, did he dare to speak again. “Sara, are you in any danger from Dan?”

She just shrugged. “Probably not. I mean, really, he’s just a drunk with a temper. I can handle it.”

“Should you be handling it?”

“Stop mothering me, Gil.”

With a sigh he nodded and just squeezed her leg a bit. It was going to be hard, getting in his car in two weeks and heading back to Vegas. If he was smart, he’d convince her to come to Vegas. Something told him that the minute he was out of the city, Dan would be beating her door down again.

**San Francisco, CA  
September 2000**

“I won’t lie.” Joss handed over the last of the paperwork and graced her with a relieved smile. “I don’t want you going, but I’m glad that you are.”

Sara blushed and stared down at her knees. “I …”

“The fact that he hasn’t killed you yet only shows how strong you are, Sara.”

“I …” she tried again and then just looked up at her boss and mentor, trying to not be angry at the lack of response from any of her friends or colleagues. That damned code of honor made for some sticky situations.

“Most people don’t want to know.” The supervisor shook his curly blonde locks. “We’re cops, we aren’t supposed to do this kind of thing, you know. Most people probably think it’s just a drama-ridden relationship, but it’s my job to observe people. You do a very good job at covering up the black eyes. I’m just glad that there won’t be any more of them.”

Words failed her and her hand went self-consciously to her ribs. “Yeah …” she whispered, softly.

“You’ll get out of this one.” Joss gave her a gentle smile. “Go and do good in Vegas. I’m proud of you, Sidle.”

“Thanks.” The conversation professional again, Sara stood up to shake his hand, and then turned to flee.

She’d never left the lab so quickly in her life.

**San Francisco, CA  
August 1996**

The pounding on the door work both of them and Gil stirred, reaching blindly for the bedside lamp. Sara bolted up, the sheets clutched to her body, the panic evident on her face.

“Hey,” Gil reached for her, wrapping his arms tenderly around her now shaking body, “you changed your locks. He can’t get in.”

She looked petrified and he held her close, stroking her hair while they listened to Dan’s rantings from the other side of the living room door. His curses echoed, growing louder and angrier. Sara kept trying to pull away, to go to the door to silence him, but Gil held her tightly against his body. If she went to the door, Dan would know he was here. The outcome of that would be bad for him and even worse for Sara. “I’m right here,” he whispered, wondering how it was that this man was still walking the streets. “I’m right here.”

“You won’t be next week …” she whispered.

**Las Vegas  
September 2000**

Maybe she’d made a mistake. After all, Vegas wasn’t the only place that wanted her services and the Feds paid better. Had Gil really talked to the team? Did they actually want to bring her on? Could she work with Warrick Brown and not feel guilty for almost ending his career?

Standing in the break room, clutching her bag, wondering when Gil would show up to get her paperwork signed, she honestly wondered if this had been the best choice. Maybe she should have just moved back East and forgotten about this whole chapter of her life completely.

“Hey …”

She turned, the Texas accent catching her attention. “Nick.” They shared an uncomfortable smile, but the southern boy was far too polite to extend anything but hospitality to her. That, at least, was helpful.

“Look, Sara …” she watched him head for the fridge and one of the bottled iced teas inside. “Just to let you know …”

“Yeah?”

“I still have seniority.”

She laughed and shook her head, “I’ve been a CSI three for almost two years, Nick. Explain your thought process to me.”

“You,” he tossed her an apple, “are still the new girl. Now, I don’t know how it works in San Francisco, but that means you get to work yourself up to things like getting the days off you want.”

Grinning playfully, Sara shook her head. “Nick, you’re about to learn a couple of things.”

“What’s that?” They shared a grin again and Sara found herself warming up to this guy on a deeper level. He was going to be her ally, beyond even what Gil could be for her.

Grissom. He wasn’t Gil anymore. Here, at work, she had to think of him as Grissom. Once his first name escaped her lips, it would be all over. “First, I still hold the record back in San Francisco for the longest shift pulled. Time off, really doesn’t matter that much to me.”

Nick chuckled. “Okay. And second?”

“You’d better be nice to me otherwise when you think you need to switch shifts with someone and you come to me, instead of covering for you, I’ll suddenly discover a love for my time off.”

This completely broke the ice and Nick just started to laugh. “Yeah, yeah. I got ya.”

The break room door opened a crack and Grissom stood there, a half-smile on his lips and conflicted look in his blue eyes. At least, Sara thought, she wasn’t the only one who was going to have trouble remembering to separate the professional and the personal. “Sara?” The calm voice asked, “Do you want to go get those papers signed? We’ve got a busy night ahead of us.”

They shared a grin, far different than the one she and Nick had been sharing just moments ago. As they fell into step with each other, she could feel his claim on her and she relaxed considerably. It wasn’t going to be easy, but it just might work.

**San Francisco, CA  
August 1996**

“I don’t want you to go …”

Grissom stared into Sara’s eyes and sighed, his emotions mirroring hers. He wasn’t a man to love easily, but here he was, deeply in love with this contradiction in terms. She was strong, but desperately vulnerable. She could fight, but only for the souls of others, never for herself. “I don’t want to either, Sar …” he stroked her cheek, wondering if all he needed to do was ask one more time, and she’d agree to the transfer. But he’d tried, and he couldn’t handle having his heart crushed with another refusal. She had a life here. Didn’t she?

“Sara!” They both turned and Grissom found himself reminded of the so-called life she had here. Carefully, he stepped closer to her, doing his best to shield her from Dan, but the younger cop was stronger than both of them, and his rage only heightened by the drinking he’d been doing. Red-faced and stumbling, Dan grabbed at Sara’s upper arm before she could step free of his reach. “You mind telling me why you’re ignoring my calls?”

“Because I have nothing more to say to you.” She tried to shake free, but he was too strong, too angry. “Let go of me, Dan.”

“You heard her,” Grissom’s voice was low and deadly as all the control he focused in every part of his life started to slip. “Let go of her. You don’t want to make a scene, Andrews.”

“Stay out of this, Bug-Man. This is between me and my girlfriend.”

“I’m not your girlfriend anymore!” She tried to pull free again and screamed as his hand tightened around her upper arm. “Dan, let me go!”

Grissom leapt into action but he wasn’t fast enough, and Dan had her down on the ground in front of him. “Let her go!”

He was powerless to stop what happened next. Dan’s steel-toed boot came down on Sara’s forearm and the sound of crunching bone echoed throughout the hotel’s parking garage. Sara’s agonizing scream followed and the reaction in his body was enough to finally shove the stronger man out of the way. The blow connected hard with Dan’s jaw but Grissom didn’t register the pain in his own hand. The cop rubbed at his jaw and in that moment, Grissom knew that his reaction was only going to make Sara’s life even more difficult. She would be the one to pay for the bruise on Dan’s cheek. But he couldn’t think about that right now, Sara’s screams had died down to shocked whimpers and he needed to her to the hospital. His plane could wait.

**Las Vegas, NV  
September 2000**

She knew full well what went through his mind when he looked at her. She knew it in his touch, in how controlled he was over every aspect of his life. It was why they worked so well together, and he knew it as much as she did.

Struggling, barely, against his strong hands as he pushed her down into his mattress, Sara gave herself over completely, and laughed as she heard the length of duct tape being pulled from the roll.

“Yes, actually,” he nibbled at her ear, “I do want to tape you up.” Gently, he rolled her over, meeting her eyes as he clasped her slender wrists in his own hand. “Can I?” He knew she wouldn’t struggle, but he needed to hear it from her, to make sure it was okay.

A long, slender leg wrapped around his hip, anchoring him in place. “Yes …” she moaned, granting him the permission he needed. Her arms went above her head as he bound her, carefully. She could tell he didn’t want to hurt her, but that this was a fantasy he’d been living with for a long time. “It’s okay, Gil …” she murmured as her arms found a comfortable place. “I trust you.”

It was all the permission he needed. His mouth sought hers, before be began a thorough exploration of her body.

His lips started with her neck, kissing and tasting the sensitive skin, spending time on the places he knew made her squirm. A strangled cry escaped her lips as Grissom moved down her body to lathe her nipple with his tongue. Unable to touch him, completely under his control, she writhed, gasping, giving herself over to him completely. She’d started it, she knew, back in the hallway of the lab, but he was going to finish it.

Being unable to respond to him in any way other than to spread her legs to grant him better access only heightened her awareness of what his mouth and hands were doing to her body.

Weight settled over her body again and she looked up into his eyes as she wrapped her legs around his hips. Neither said a word as he slid into her body and set them in motion. His words in her ear egged her on, his complete control of her body send her into sensory overload, and her trembling helped to push him over the edge.

Collapsing into each other, she kept him in her body, her legs tight around him. They needed this, right here, this connection, because already she could feel the job coming between them. Once the lease on her new apartment was approved, nights like this would start to disappear.

“Sara …” he murmured into her ear.

“No …” She couldn’t let him say it. If he said it, she’d never be able to let him pull away. If he said it, she’d never recover from the heartbreak she knew was coming. “I know,” she whispered.

“Do you? Really?”

Leaning up just enough to snag his lips with her own, Sara kissed him softly before pulling back. “I do.” She smiled, trying to keep the sadness out of her eyes. “Me too.”

It was easier, she knew, to love him like this, without the words. The words would make it real, and right now, all she could face was the fantasy.

**San Francisco, CA  
September 1996**

Moving was painful, but it had to be done. Her finger sought out her sore breast and caressed under the nipple ring, unable to stop the whimper that came from her lips when she touched the swollen flesh. How could she have been so stupid? How could she have given into the silent pressure and not filed charges and had him arrested? She knew better! She got frustrated with so many of the victims she processed because they hadn’t found ways to protect themselves. She knew the signs, but Dan had just sucked her in with his apologies about her arm. She knew better, but she’d let him into the house, and then into her life again. She wanted to blame it on the misery of Gil’s departure, but that wasn’t fair to him.

Carefully, slowly, she got up, shaking off the soreness in her bones as she padded across the darkened bedroom. Coffee first, then shower.

Coffee. A piece of beef jerkey. A peach. An English muffin.

She moved to turn on the TV, whimpering again at the lingering pain in her ribs, glad that she had no idea where Dan was. A glance down at her arm revealed ugly bruises turning green now, the yellow at the edges making her skin appear sallow. She’d wear the blue sweater again today. People never suspected anything when tall, skinny girls wore sweaters.

CNN talked about the OJ Simpson case and she rolled her eyes, for once glad that criminalists were ignored by the media. The officers were getting the brunt of the blame for the problems in the case. The evidence collection had been flawless, it was what the officers had then done with it that made it all suspect. _Someday,_ she thought as she flipped through the channels, hoping for something besides OJ coverage, _CSI’s will get the credit we deserve._

After making sure the door was still locked, Sara moved, slowly, into the bathroom, forgetting about the food her body needed. The blue mug of cooling coffee settled on the counter, her pajamas fell to the floor and while she waited for the warm water to flow through the aging pipes in her building, she stared at her naked form in the mirror. Her belly button showed off the piercings well, and she liked the new little silver bulb she’d bought for the lower one last week. But, around her rib cage, familiar, angry, dark purple hand shaped bruises contrasted against her pale skin and when she bent too far to the right, a rib hurt. Her breasts were firm in her hands, swollen with her monthly bloating, and her nipples were red from where Dan had bitten them. Her nipple with the ring looked red and puffy, but she couldn’t bear to take the jewelry out. Hopefully the salt soaks would flush it enough.

As steam began to rise from the tub, she reached for a plastic bag to cover the cast on her broken arm, and then climbed under the stream of water. From somewhere beyond the noise of the shower and the droning of the TV, she heard her phone ring and the message beep. She didn’t need to be listening to know exactly who it was, and in the safety of the falling water, she allowed herself to cry.

**Las Vegas, NV  
September 2000**

“Well, that’s the last of it.” Sara sighed and dropped down onto her couch. The plastic covering the moving company had used crinkled under her in uncomfortable ways, but she was too tired to care. While she took a swig of her water, Grissom was already cracking into her boxes of books. “I’d thank you for helping, but I know that’s just because you want to see what I have that you haven’t read.”

Grissom laughed and pulled out her battered copy of the _Tao of Physics_. “Didn’t I give this to you?”

“That copy. You replaced the one I had that disintegrated in that rain storm.”

“Yeah.” He smiled at the memory and then looked over at her.

Sara just looked back and sighed. “Say it, Gil."

“You already know what I’m going to say?” Slowly he moved up to sit with her on the couch. His hand brushed back a loose lock of hair and then made it’s path downward to the zipper on her sports bra. Sara’s hand stopped his from sliding the metal teeth open and he looked at her, confused.

She sighed at his expression. “I need to know what we do now. It was different when I was crashing at your place. It was easy to just curl up in bed with you, even though we’re just supposed to be friends. What does it mean now that I’m not living with you? You’re my boss, Gil. We can’t …” She sighed and blinked back tears. “Isn’t this the argument you’ve been having with yourself since I moved here?”

Grissom swallowed, looking down for a minute, before glancing back up into her eyes. “I don’t know. But it doesn’t mean …” he sighed. “I don’t know what it means.”

“Then maybe we … we shouldn’t do this anymore.” Her heart broke as she uttered the words, but maybe it was the right thing to do. Maybe it would be easier if they just became friends. Maybe too much time had passed and they were supposed to just remember those months in San Francisco. She didn’t know, and she needed Grissom to make a decision.

But he didn’t. His lips descended onto hers and the zipper on her sports bra slid down and the kisses and the touches they shared were desperate and passionate; anything to erase the conversation they’d just almost had. They needed to have it, they needed to set some kind of boundary, but right now, Sara was willing to give in to his own confusion. They could love each other like this, even if neither of them could say the words.

So what if history repeated itself? So what if it hurt more later? She’d tried, and he had rejected the conversation. It was dangerous territory, but she didn’t know any other way to live.

As he pulled her close, sliding her jeans down her hips, Sara knew that for the first time since his lips had touched hers four years ago, that she would regret this in the morning.

_TBC..._


	4. Damaged, Not Broken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Step one: Observation and description of a phenomenon or group of phenomena._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as usual, thank you to [](http://simplekndofgirl.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://simplekndofgirl.livejournal.com/)**simplekndofgirl** , who is turning into the beta for this series. And, thank you to CSI for giving me the 5th season and making my long held beliefs about Sara’s past into canon. I’m just taking what they’ve told us, and filling in the blanks.

_**Fanfic: Sleeps with Butterflies (ch 3)**_  
 **Series:** Sleeps with Butterflies  
 **Chapter Three:** Damaged, Not Broken  
 **Author:** [](http://vegawriters.livejournal.com/profile)[**vegawriters**](http://vegawriters.livejournal.com/)  
 **Pairing:** Sara/Grissom (Just not in this chapter.)  
 **Timeframe/Spoilers:** Over the course of time, will cover the entire series. This chapter is pre-series.  
 **Rating:** This series is **Adult** , for a lot of reasons. This chapter lives into that rating in a big way. No, there is no smut contained within the pages, but there are references to what Sara went through at home and in foster care. The images are not pretty and have the ability to offend. They are not graphic, but it’s clear what is going on. Consider yourself well warned.

 **Disclaimer:** I have fantasies of being paid to write these characters. Until I find a way to make that fantasy come true, I have no claim whatsoever to Sara Sidle, Laura Sidle, or any of the characters envisioned by CBS and the powers that be at CSI. I make no money off of my playing with them.  
 **Author’s Note:** as usual, thank you to [](http://simplekndofgirl.livejournal.com/profile)[**simplekndofgirl**](http://simplekndofgirl.livejournal.com/) , who is turning into the beta for this series. And, thank you to CSI for giving me the 5th season and making my long held beliefs about Sara’s past into canon. I’m just taking what they’ve told us, and filling in the blanks.

 **Summary:** _Step one: Observation and description of a phenomenon or group of phenomena._

**_I know what it’s like … Living with strangers. Your fate being decided by social workers, advocates, judges..._**  
~Sara Sidle, No Humans Involved

 ** _Because the way you grow old is kind of like an onion or like the rings inside a tree trunk or like my little wooden dolls that fit one inside the other, each year inside the next one. That’s how being eleven years old is._**  
~From “Eleven” by Sandra Cisneros

**_Modesto, CA_ **

If she closed her eyes and thought really hard, maybe she would open her eyes and be back in her bedroom in Tomales Bay. If she tried hard enough, she could hear the waves against the shore and the distant sound of the lighthouse motor. Even when her parents were fighting, it had been peaceful in her bedroom. The shelter reminded her too much of their house in Modesto. Thin walls amplified the sudden eruptions of sound; bombs exploded and left a wake of the loudest silence a person could imagine. She hated that house. It didn’t make any sense to have two houses. Wasn’t it better to just live on the beach all the time?

Twelve-year-old Sara Anne Sidle huddled into a ball, trying to hide from the noise around her: younger girls fighting over dolls, boys playing with trucks, the nauseating sound of the basketballs bouncing against the court. Gum smacked. Hair twirled through brushes. She heard everything.

It was too loud to sleep, too loud to read. At times, it was too loud to imagine that she was back on the beach in Tomales Bay.

All she had to do was hold on. Her older brother was coming for her. Brian promised he’d be back.

_Just hang tight, Stars. I promise, I’ll be back soon. Someone will come and take care of you for a while, but I’ll come and get you. I promise. Here, pinky swear._

It wouldn’t be long.

She knew the two adults in the doorway were talking about her. They were trying to not be obvious, but over the noise in the room, she could hear bits and pieces of their conversation. The blonde was the detective who had shown up at her house. The redhead was Mackenzie, the social worker.

Sara wished she could remember the name of the first woman, the one who had found her that night; the one who had brought her over to the hospital. But she hadn’t seen her since Mackenzie had brought her back here.

It was all so confusing. Mackenzie and the blonde detective kept trying to get her to say something. Mackenzie wanted her to tell them about what her father had done. The blonde detective wanted to know what had made her mother snap. Everyone wanted to know about the old bruises on her temple and why her x-rays had been “a spider web of fractures”. They wanted to know if her father had touched her inappropriately and had her mother ever tried to leave.

Would they believe her if she told them that her father hadn’t been the only one who hurt her? Her father hit her when he drank too much, but her mother had gone completely crazy. What if she said the wrong thing? Was she supposed to tell them about how her father used her for target practice with his empty liquor bottles and drinking glasses; the last time he’d landed a shot, she’d ended up with three stitches over her eye.

_Tell them how this happened, girl, and I swear to your mother’s god, I’ll kill you. You fell down the stairs. Remember that._

Did they want to know about her mother locking her in a closet because she’d asked when she was going to start her period like the other girls? Was she supposed to tell them about Brian’s broken noses? What was she supposed to say? Her mother had told her that if she ever said anything to the cops or any social workers who might come to the house, that they’d send her to a place where little girls were made into slaves. Her father’s threats still echoed in her mind.

But now, her father was dead and her mother was in jail. What if her punishment was being sent to a place where Brian would never find her?

They kept asking questions and sending her to different doctors, but she didn’t dare to say anything. These were the people her mother had said would hurt her.

Could they hurt her any more than her parents already had?

Would they lock her in her room for three days without food?

What torture could they do to her that was worse than she had already lived through?

But every time she went to speak, her mouth wouldn’t move.

She had answers to their questions, but her mouth wouldn’t obey her commands.

She missed the woman with the soft brown eyes, the one who had yanked open the hideaway door under the stairs. She’d lowered her flashlight, called out for a medic, and then given Sara a smile.

_I’ve found the daughter!_

Sara hadn’t let go of her hand until the hospital. The woman had stayed, waiting with her until Mackenzie came to take her to the shelter. At the last minute, she’d slipped her blue windbreaker around Sara’s shoulders.

_You’re going to be okay. You’re safe now._

Her arm and face still hurt. Did it matter anymore that her father had thrown her down against the edge of her bed? Her father was still dead, they’d taken her mother away, and Brian had abandoned her.

_It’s going to be okay._

They kept asking her the same questions. Did she remember her mother stabbing her father? What had been going on? What was the fight about? But that was what they didn’t get. It never mattered what the fight was about, it always ended with someone hurt. They wanted to know how she broke her arm. Had her father grabbed her? They were all very concerned with what her father had done to her. Did it matter to them that her mother had hurt her too? She didn’t know if she could even tell them when her mother had held hand over the searing heat of the stove.

_Feel this, girl? Do you feel the heat? You’d better get used to this feeling because it’s what awaits girls like you! You’re going to hell, girl!_

The burn on her hand was still red, but she couldn’t remember when it had happened. What good would she be even if she _could_ find a way to speak?

But they only seemed to care about her father. Was it just fathers who got in trouble for beating their kids?

It didn’t matter anyway, not anymore and no matter how much Mackenzie tried to talk to her, Sara couldn’t get her mouth to obey her brain. If she could, she’d tell them that only had foggy memories of the last few months. There had been the time, recently, when her father had come back from the house in Tomales Bay. He’d been drunk and stood in her bedroom door, laughing at her while she huddled on her bed, still bruised and sore from her mother’s punishment for starting her period.

_A new little woman in the house, hm._

Her stomach still churned with fear; she could still see him looming in her doorway, laughing. A sixth sense that told her something had been wrong about the way her father looked at her.

If her mouth worked, she could tell them that blood smelled like copper and iron.

She knew she would never forget the cop who had been standing by her father’s body. He had been puking his guts out and the woman who had found her had muttered something about how uniforms were wimps.

“Has she spoken yet?”

“No.”

Sara pressed her back into the wall, hoping they’d just go away, or at least go talk about her where she couldn’t hear them.

“We still don’t have any clue what really happened to her beyond very sketchy hospital records.”

“From what I understand,” the blonde detective looked over her shoulder again and Sara quickly looked away, “those records should have alerted someone to what was going on in that house.”

Mackenzie sounded frustrated. “We don’t catch all of them. It didn’t help that the family was apparently back and forth between here and Tomales Bay all the time. When you are being served by different hospitals and different systems, it’s easier to stay lost.”

“I know.” Jennifer Curtis looked back again. “My daughter is that age. It’s a damn shame.”

“It is for all these kids.” Mackenzie shook her head. “And, to anticipate your next question, Sara is still in a catatonic state, but she is starting to function better. For a while, she refused all food, but the last few days we’ve been able to get her to eat.” Glancing at the chart in her hands, she read over the notes again. “Have you found her brother yet?"

“They’re still looking.”

“It might go a long way – it might get her to open up. Usually in a situation like the one we found her in, the kids have a very tight bond to protect each other from the parents. But, he’s almost seventeen and probably hoping the system will care for her. I wouldn’t be surprised to see him surface in a couple of years and try to gain custody.”

Sara looked over at the detective and the social worker, wondering why their faces were so sad when they mentioned Brian. They had to know where Brian was. He was coming to get her. He’d promised!

“The only survivor of that night is a pre-teen girl who was so abused and so traumatized that it’s been three weeks and she’s still not speaking. She’s my first priority for housing. I think all of the kids here are scaring her, but I can’t find a family willing to take someone as difficult as she’s going to be. From what I can tell, she didn’t have any exposure to the outside world beyond that bed and breakfast, and even that was limited. Apparently, somewhere in the last three years or so, the mother was converted to some sect of born again Christianity and she probably didn’t like outsiders near the kids. She moved them here for part of the year and left her husband to run the business.”

“She didn’t care that she was leaving her drunk husband to run the family’s only source of income?”

“In some part of her mind, I’m sure she thought her husband was also preaching. Or, she was trying to stay away from him altogether. Either way, when it comes to the kids, there are a few records of scattered school attendance. After an investigation by Sara’s teachers in regard to a picture she’d drawn of a harpooned whale, her family pulled both kids out of school and they were home schooled. The mother kept all the records up to date, CPS never had reason to investigate. Or so we thought.”

“The most important time for a girl to be socialized, and she’s been locked in her room?”

“Rapunzel, Rapunzel …”

“Yeah.” Mackenzie looked over her shoulder and Sara quickly looked away and stared back out the window at the kids in the courtyard. “There’s a brilliant mind at work inside of that panic … we just find to find it.”

“From caterpillar to butterfly?”

“From cocoon to butterfly.” The social worker sighed softly. “I just hope this one makes it out of the webbing alive.”

Together, they turned. Sara could feel them coming.

“Sara?”

Everything was so confusing. She wanted _her_ bed and _her_ books, but she wasn’t sure if she wanted her mother to come rescue her. Her father’s beatings had been horrible, but her mother’s torture was worse.

She missed the mother who had helped her make sea shell wreathes and told her the stories of the mermaids under the water.

She missed the friends from her books. There was nothing here but the pile of National Geographic’s she’d found and stashed under her cot. She missed Nancy Drew and Cherry Ames. She was midway through a new Hardy Boys story. But, her books were all back in the house and it occurred to her, suddenly, that they probably smelled like her father’s blood.

Mackenzie’s voice was trying to get her attention but she couldn’t look up. Slowly, she reached under her pillow to clutch the tattered magazine with the pictures of wild orchids on the cover. She closed her eyes and tried to remember back to the time when her mother had woven flower chains into her hair and taught her all about Mother Earth and Father Time. A time back when they lived only at the bed and breakfast, before her father started smelling like liquor and before her mother’s bibles started appearing in the house.

“Sara?” Mackenzie’s voice came again. “Sara, sweetheart, can you talk to me?”

Daring herself to open her eyes, Sara tried to focus on the two women, but the cross hanging around the detective’s neck distracted her. She blinked and tucked her knees up closer.

_You filthy little whore! What have you done this time?! What did you do that made God so angry that he made you bleed?_

Her mother was grabbing her hair, dragging her, while she demanded her daughter repent for her sins.

“Sara, I know you can hear us. Come on out of there, okay? Come out and talk?”

Sara stared at the cast on her arm. She remembered Brian putting her under the stairs, she remembered her mother screaming and her father yelling, but she couldn’t remember how her bones had been broken.

The images in her mind but they were like the ones from her “chose your own adventure” books. Alone, each possibility made no sense and the story was impossible to piece together.

***

Sara tucked her arms together under the big sleeves of the blue windbreaker and wished to be allowed back into the car. She’d take the shelter over this strange family.

She’d even take her mother back. She’d put up with her conversion to that insane religion if it meant she didn’t have to live with these people. If she went back to her mother, maybe Brian would come back. They could go back to Tomales Bay and she wouldn’t have to live in this tiny house with all these kids who stared at her like she was something on the cover of one of her magazines.

She took a step back, trying to flee for the car. Mackenzie’s hand held her in place.

“Hi, Sara.”

She clutched her backpack tightly against her chest, avoiding the gaze of the large, bubbly woman with big teeth and bigger hair. The backpack held her only possessions – the toothbrush from the shelter, one change of clothes, and the teddy bear Brian had given her for her fifth birthday.

The woman who had found her had come to visit one day.

_I hear you aren’t talking yet. What’s going on inside your head? You don’t have to talk to me, it’s okay. But don’t say silent forever. I’ll bet you have a lot of neat things to say._

They’d sat outside and Sara had held her teddy bear and looked into the woman’s brown eyes. It was the first time since her father had been killed that she’d said a word to anyone.

_Can I go home with you?_

She still couldn’t remember the woman’s name.

_Sara … I wish I could take you home, but I can’t. They don’t let people like me be foster parents. You’ll understand when you’re older … I know, it’s a stupid answer, but really, you will understand when you’re older._

Right now, it really was a stupid answer. It didn’t make any sense that she couldn’t go home with the one person she felt safe around.

_Here’s your backpack too. At least, I figured it’s your backpack. Some of your things are inside – washed to get rid of the smell from that night. There are also a couple of new books for you. I’m sorry you’re going through this, Sara, but you’ll be okay._

She didn’t understand why the woman couldn’t take her home.

_You’re a bit young for the books, but something tells me that you’ll understand them just fine. Good luck._

“Sara, say hello.” Mackenzie’s voice nudged her. Sara looked up again, but when she tried to speak, nothing came out of her mouth. Behind the big woman stood a mixture of kids, most of them shared her big bones and big hair. The big woman came up and hugged her and Sara had to fight to keep from puking at the overwhelming scent of tobacco and chewing gum. When the woman pulled back she looked hurt, as if Sara had insulted her very honor by not jumping for joy. After all, she was saving this poor, young orphan.

Sara stood still, confused at the noise around her, and wanting her mother and her brother. She’d even be happy to go back to the cots and the noise at the shelter if she didn’t have to be hugged again by this woman.

The dusty house smelled like stale bologna and dirty cat litter. Toddlers with hair color the same as the woman’s – was it Mrs. Lewis? – followed her as she was shoved into a room overflowing with girls toys. She shared the room with three other girls, and she was given the bottom bunk closest to the door. Pinks and yellows jumped out at her, and Sara winced, missing the cinderblock of the shelter. She sighed and curled up, clutching the bag against her body.

Maybe it would all be over soon.

Maybe she could go home.

Maybe her mom would be different this time.

Maybe.

***

She stared, blankly, around the room. Homeroom had been bad enough. But this was a room full of long desks that she’d have to share with another student. She couldn’t curl up in her own little space and ignore the people around her.

Carefully, she turned and walked to the back of the room. Silently staking her claim to her chair with her notebook, she kept her backpack clutched on her arm as she walked to the side counter and looked at the posters outlining the scientific method.

_Step one: Observation and description of a phenomenon or group of phenomena._

Slowly, she turned and watched her classmates file through the door. Not all of them were as perfect as some – none were as messy as she was. She watched the girls and boys who were perfect gather together, all at the back of the room. Then there were the ones who were a little more like her. There were fewer of them, and fewer still who chose to sit in the front.

She turned back to the posters and reread step one. Hm.

Rainbows caught her attention and Sara looked down at a collection of triangular objects on the counter. With courage she hadn’t felt in years, she reached out and lifted a small prism to catch the light.

“That’s my favorite piece.”

Gasping in fear, Sara dropped the prism. “I’m sorry!” She whispered even as he picked up the glass from the counter and set it back in its place. Her hands wrapped around her sides and she stared down at her scuffed tennis shoes.

The teacher frowned. “You didn’t do anything wrong, Sara. It is Sara, right?”

She nodded.

“You know something,” when he stopped speaking, she looked up and he smiled at her. There was something gentle about him and despite her racing heart, she found herself able to start to relax. “I think you’ll like it better up front. You can pay more attention and it will be less crowded.” She grinned at the thought of fewer students. “Do you like science, Sara?”

She kind of nodded. “I really do.” Even now, speaking aloud still felt strange.

“Well then, the front will be better for you anyway. Come on. Don’t worry.”

Sara smiled.  


***

“Why are you back here, Sara?” Sara ducked the exasperated look from her social worker. “I’m running out of places to put you. This will be your third home since August.”

Worrying the strip of leather around her wrist, Sara shrugged and did her best to form words that still didn’t want to come. “I don’t know. I’m trying.” It was easier to stare into space, to just let things happen to her. The court-ordered shrink they’d assigned her to was all too happy with the few words she’d give to him at each session, and she was just as happy to not force herself to speak more than absolutely necessary. The same went for Mackenzie, it seemed.

“You’re trying? How is sneaking cigarettes, never leaving your room, and stealing beer trying? Sara, I know you’re going through a time right now, but our choices for you are limited.”

“Yeah. I know. No one wants the crazy girl from the crazy family anyway.” When Mackenzie didn’t say anything for a few minutes, Sara tucked her knees up and wrapped her arms around them. “You told me I could see my mom. When?”

“When the courts say it’s okay.”

“I want to see her.”

“Sara … _Why_ do you want to see her?”

Sara swallowed hard and stared at the woman. “You told me I could see her.” She needed to see her. She still couldn’t piece together what had happened; if she saw her mother locked up, then maybe, it could all start to make sense. “Please?”

Mackenzie nodded to the small duffel bag and backpack that held Sara’s things. “Go claim a cot. I’ll get on the phone to the courts and we’ll see what we can do. I’m also going to work on a new placement for you. For God’s Sake, Sara, don’t screw this next one up. Is it really so hard to just get along?”

Sara glared and grabbed her bags and headed for the girl’s room. Three months in, Sara already knew the drill: keep her head down, acknowledge those with any kind of power, fight if she had to. As she entered, a few of the girls she recognized looked up and they exchanged nods. Trading a cigarette for her preferred bunk, she waited for the other girl to move her stuff from the bed.

So this, Sara thought as she dropped her backpack, must be what juvie was like.

***

Mackenzie’s sigh echoed in Sara’s ears. Keeping her hands clenched in her pockets, she counted tiles as they walked from room to room. Today, she’d learned the truth; the courts had decided that her mother wasn’t fit to regain custody. Sara was going to be in foster care until she was eighteen. Guards opened and closed gates behind them and with each step Sara felt the pressure of the hospital all around her. Each step made her regret begging to see her mother.

One last room opened before them. Sara raised her eyes from her tennis shoes and found herself staring at the woman who used to be her mother. She knew the eyes and the hair, but it wasn’t her mother. It couldn’t be. Everything was different, even the smell. It wasn’t her mother’s smell. But when her mother hugged her, she found herself clinging and crying and wanting to know why she hadn’t come to get her.

“What did I do wrong?” Sara whimpered, looking up into her mother’s eyes. “What did I do?”

“Baby …” Laura reached up, gently touching her daughter’s cheeks. “You didn’t do anything. This isn’t your fault, Sara.”

At the touch on her face, over her eye, Sara jerked away, knowing it was a lie. This glazy, medicated, strange smelling version of her mother was only an illusion. Her mother would never tell her that it wasn’t her fault. Her mother would tell her the truth – it was her fault this had happened because Sara had broken a pot or burned dinner or woken her father up. It had to be her fault. It was always her fault. Even the families who kept sending her back to the shelters said it. It was always her fault.

“I wanna go.” She looked over at Mackenzie. “I want to go. Now.”

***

  
“Sara …”

She turned and leaned against the school library’s cold, brick wall. “Yeah?”

“What are you doing?”

“What do you mean?” She hugged her books tighter against her chest and ignored Mr. Johnson’s glare.

“I mean, you’re easily the brightest kid in your class, if not this school and your brilliance doesn’t stop with science. You’ve got straight A’s, but you are insolent, you respond to baiting, and then, today, I catch you under the bleachers, smoking. You’re thirteen years old, Sara. What are you doing?”

She just stared at him, not sure where he was going, but just wanting to get out and be alone again. She liked Mr. Johnson. Of all the teachers, he didn’t treat her like a complete freak, but that didn’t mean he understood her. Maybe if she stared at him long enough, he’d let her leave.

No such luck.

“Sit down for a minute, Sara.”

Knowing better than to argue with that tone, she moved back to the table where she’d been sitting and dropped into the chair. “I’m sorry,” she said. It was what the teachers wanted to hear.

“No, you aren’t and I’d rather you were insolent than lie to me.” He handed her a sheet of paper.

“What’s this?”

“Your classes for next year, if you’re willing. Emphasis on math and science and advanced English.”

“You changed my schedule?!”

“It’s a proposal.” He sat across from her at the small table, “Sara, I am tired of seeing you scheduled for detention. I’m not going to let that brain of yours go to waste, but you have to meet me halfway. I think you’re bored and that’s what has you drawing the pictures you’re drawing in the margins of the books and picking fights with girls who don’t have as much brain in their heads as you do in your little finger. The deal is that you stop fighting and we don’t catch you out back smoking again. You do that; we give you all the advanced classes you want. Do well; we help you get into any advanced placement classes you want in high school. I think you could even graduate early and get out of the system, but you have to be willing to work for it. This won’t be easy for you.”

She stared at the piece of paper in her hands. “Where could I go? To school, I mean …?”

“Harvard … Yale … Berkeley. Sara, you’ve got a mind that leaves people in wonder, but you’re wasting it by giving into whatever is around you. You have to control yourself, reign yourself in.” He smiled. “Deal?”

“Deal.”  


***

They were the only two girls on their side of the room. The holidays meant foster families filled themselves to capacity; people wanting to do their good deeds before they decided that the older kids were just too much of a hassle. Sara had actually been glad no one had come to pick her up – it was easier than melding into a new family only to be kicked out all over again. Anyway, maybe Brian would come back to get her.

“Is your mom ever coming to pick you up?”

Sara looked over at the shadowy form of the other girl. Alyssa had been told her mother was coming back; she was only here until her mother was released after a drug conviction. “Probably not.” She looked back at Waterland. She felt for the teacher in the story, the one with the crazy wife. He had stayed with his wife and loved her even when she embarrassed him. He didn’t drink or embarrass the kids around him. It was a nice fantasy.

“I’m sorry…”

Sara shrugged and looked back up at her scared bunkmate. “It’s okay."

“I always hear that it’s really bad for girls in foster care. Do the boys really watch you in the shower? Are the dads all perverts?”

Sara shrugged again. At her last home, the father had kept walking in on her when she was in the shower, but it wasn’t anything more than what her own father had done. “It’s not that bad, really. I know it happens, but …”

“I hope it doesn’t happen to me. I just want my mom to come back.”

Sara looked at the scared, shadowy figure and sighed, refusing to admit that she shared Alyssa’s dream. She wanted her mother to come floating into the room, her long hair half out of its braid, daisies in her hands, and a smile for everyone. She wanted that mother, not the one who hurt her or the glazed, medicated one from the hospital. But it was just a dream, and dreams weren’t meant to come true.

***

She sighed and pushed her hair out of her eyes. It was late, but she needed to make sure she passed this test. For once, the classes she was dealing with were really hard and she needed to prove to the teacher who didn’t think she could handle a freshman level advanced physics class that she was still the smartest person in the room.

The doorknob turned and she looked up, expecting her newest foster mother to be standing there, smacking her gum, demanding that she turn out the light and go to bed. She didn’t like this new family, but it could have been worse. At least here the father didn’t invade her personal space and the mom was nice, if slightly irritating. For the first time in a year, she had her own room. That alone was reason to want to stay.

But it wasn’t Mrs. Flemming in the doorway. Instead, it was Derrick, the family’s seventeen-year-old son. He grinned at her and stepped into the room, shutting the door behind him. Hearing the lock click, Sara froze. Instinct told her to duck, that if she launched herself off the bed she could get away. But Derrick was too fast and he threw her back onto the bed. Her head cracked against the bedpost and she could feel everything start to go fuzzy.

Hold still, her mind told her. Just hold still. Struggling will make it worse.

His hand covered her mouth and when she wiggled a bit when his hand grabbed at her nightshirt, he pushed his palm over her nose. “Scream and I’ll sell you to my buddies. Struggle and I’ll make you wish you’d died right along with your dad. Tell anyone about this, and I swear to god, Sara, I’ll kill you.”

_Tell anyone how you got hurt, girl, and I swear to your mother’s god, I’ll kill you._

Derrick held a letter opener to her throat, but it was her father speaking. In this moment, she knew exactly what her father’s looks had meant and knew that Derrick was as serious now as her father had been then.

Sara bit her lip as he pushed between her legs. If she closed her eyes and held still, it would all be over soon.

***

Her stomach hurt, so she leaned against the wall, waiting until Mr. Johnson’s seventh graders were done filtering out of the class. Finally, when she was sure he was alone, she took a deep breath and moved inside the room. He was packing up his briefcase and muttering under his breath and it took her a good five minutes to work up the nerve to call his name. When he turned around, he smiled warmly at her and the knot of fear in her stomach eased just a bit.

“Sara! Hi. What’s up?”

A shaking hand covered her upset stomach and it took another few deep breaths before she could speak. “Can I talk to you?” When he caught her eye, she let herself smile just a bit. But she was too nervous to relax.

“Of course, Sara. What is it?”

She watched him watch her. He took in her baggier jeans and the big sweatshirt and frowned. He was putting it together in four seconds when it had taken her four months. Some scientist she was. “I think I’m pregnant.”

“Sara …” She could read the disappointment in his eyes and hear it in his voice. She dropped her eyes to the ground, staring at her scuffed tennis shoes. He’d never treat her the same way again. She’d lose out on moments with him. He’d dump her just as fast as the foster families who couldn’t handle her. She’d broken her promise to him. “Sara, no …”

Tears started to stream down her face. “I didn’t want to …” her voice was shaking. “He made me.”

“God, Sara. You … you were raped?” She picked her head up when the disappointment changed to anger. Mr. Johnson’s hands were on her shoulders and she looked up, flinching. But he wasn’t angry with her. He dropped his hands from her shoulders and guided her to a chair. Kneeling in front of her, Mr. Johnson gently touched her forehead before tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. “Sara, when? When did this happen?”

“Halloween.” She whispered, her arms wrapped tightly around her stomach. “I didn’t … Mr. Johnson, I’m ... I’m really sorry! I didn’t want to!”

“Sara … Sara, you need to tell your social worker and you need to get to a doctor.”

“They’ll blame me.”

“Sara, you don’t know that.”

“Yes!” Tears streamed down her cheeks. “They’re going to blame me! And he said he’d kill me if I told anyone.”

“Sara …” She found herself being pulled into his arms and for the first time in years, she clung to someone and let herself cry. “Sara, it’s going to be okay.”

“No …” she sobbed, quietly. “He said he’d kill me and I know he will. I can’t tell anyone …”

“I’m going to help you through this, Sara. I promise.”

She pulled back and stared at him, not quite believing what he was saying. Promises, she’d learned, were made to be broken.

***

She looked up as the door opened. An older face stared back at her, stern but not unfriendly. “Your breasts hurting you?”

Slowly, Sara nodded. She ached to feed the daughter she had never seen.

She gave the girl a soft smile. “Mackenzie told me you were raped, that the truth?”

“Yeah.” Sara tugged her knees to her chest and looked at the woman.

“Well, the pain will go away, both in your heart and your breasts. It’ll go away; your milk will dry up. And as for your heart, remember something: he didn’t do anything but take what wasn’t his and you lost your innocence long before he came along and popped your cherry. I have no doubt that you’d have been a good mother, but you’re also a kid and you need to get out of school. Your daughter is in better hands with adults who can take care of her. Don’t let this ruin you.” Rose Baker leaned in the door. “I came out of retirement for you, girl, so you’d better not screw it up.” Sara just nodded, but felt slightly better as she listened to the gentle gruffness in the woman’s voice. “I have rules here and I don’t care how smart you think you are, you obey them. No boys over. Ever. You’re in by nine during the week until you turn sixteen and then you can get a job but I want you in at ten then. Weekends, you’re in by ten until you turn sixteen and we’ll talk after that. No loud music. No smoking. No cutting classes. You get knocked up again and you’re on your own. You keep your grades up. You get arrested and I won’t hesitate to cut you loose. Got me?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Good.” She sighed softly. “Do you like coffee, Sara?”

Again, Sara nodded.

“Okay then. Come on downstairs and have a cup. I’m not expecting you to like me and god knows that I won’t take away the dream you probably have of your mother getting better and coming to save you … but I can keep you warm and give you a good, strong cup of coffee. You game?”

Slowly, Sara climbed off the bed.

“You don’t talk much do you?” Rose reached out to touch her and instantly Sara flinched. “God, child …” When Sara stared at her feet, Rose tucked her under the chin and lifted her face back up. “Such big brown eyes, such strength in your soul. You try to hide behind being too cool for everyone, but you’re still so damaged. But you aren’t broken Miss Sara. Damaged, yes. But the thing about damage is that it can be fixed.” She smiled. “You’ve done okay by yourself, despite everything. The worst part is over, Sara. Here, you won’t be hit or watched or treated like anything less than a human being. Hold yourself proudly, girl. You deserve it.”

***

“Hello, Miss Sidle!”

Sara grinned and clutched her backpack up against her shoulder. It felt strange to be back here – already the room seemed so much smaller.

“How are you?”

Slowly, she stepped toward Mr. Johnson’s desk. “I’m okay. High school is a bit different.”

He chuckled. “It is.” He paused and she knew he was searching for the right way to ask his questions. “So … you’re in school then?”

Sara nodded and swallowed, hard. “She was adopted …”

“It’s the best thing, you know that, right?”

“Yeah.” Sara blinked away the tears in her eyes. “Doesn’t make it any easier though.”

“I know.” He hugged her gently. “But you’re here for something other than a social call. What can I do for you?”

Sara chuckled and held out her physics book. “Um, help?”

_To Be Continued …_


End file.
